


Watching you

by Quicksilvermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Muggle Studies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18842845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid/pseuds/Quicksilvermaid
Summary: Movies in the dark - Hogwarts Eighth year





	Watching you

**Author's Note:**

> Just a Drabble to make me feel better on a shitty day ♥️

So it's eighth year and the whole school does Muggle Studies now. It's compulsory. It's easier to fear what you don't understand, is Mcgonnagal's new motto. Easier to hate. Easier to judge.

Harry doesn't mind. There's a specially warded room in the library now, filled with computers and his compulsory class, the one all the eighth years are in, is film studies. Which basically just means each of them has to pick a Muggle movie and they get to kill half a day in the old Astronomy room watching it and then arguing about it.

It hadn't started out as arguing. It had started out as apathy. Staring at the screen in the darkness and trying desperately not to let all the other thoughts come in. They were a small group, just a few from each house. Harry had been surprised to see Malfoy back, after everything. But even Malfoy was quiet, to start with.

It had changed when Dean had suggested X-Men for his movie of choice. Malfoy’s comments had been restrained to start with; muttered asides to Nott and Zabini from the other side of the room. But then he’d made a particularly disparaging remark about Muggles and magic wannabees, and Harry hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d snapped back. And that had been the start of it – a steady stream of movie critique that ran from plot realism, to dialogue choice to characters’ fashion sense.

He couldn’t help himself. Every opinion Malfoy had, Harry had the opposite.

It got to the point where the rest of the group complained so much about the constant interruptions to the movies that Harry and Malfoy were banished to one of the back couches together and told to keep it down if they wanted to keep going on about it.

So then things became interesting. Then Harry was sitting in the dark, beside Malfoy. Then Harry had Malfoy leaning over, whispering in his ear, hot breath against his cheek. Then Harry started to realise that some time in the last few weeks, Malfoy’s comments had gone from disparaging to … funny. Still sharp and cutting but not something he necessarily objected to anymore. Not that he didn’t keep objecting, of course.

Knowing Malfoy was getting worked up beside him, feeling Malfoy’s shoulder leaning into his as he moved closer to make his points more emphatically was … fast becoming the highlight of Harry’s week. He didn’t quite know why that was. Didn’t quite know how he’d slowly become more and more aware of Malfoy beside him in the dark. He found himself wondering how it might feel to move just those last few centimetres – to take Malfoy’s pale hand as he gesticulated to make his point … to slip a hand onto his leg and feel the muscles of his thigh. To maybe move his hand higher.

As Malfoy leaned in to make his points each week, Harry found himself wondering how it might feel to tilt his head. To feel Malfoy’s breath on his neck, Malfoy’s lips and teeth against his skin.

It would only take a fraction of a movement. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t. And neither did Malfoy.

It was when they were watching Brokeback Mountain, Seamus’ choice this time, that Harry realised Malfoy was being uncharacteristically quiet. He glanced across to see Malfoy’s eyes glued to the screen and found himself suddenly, intensely aware of the way they were sitting in the dark, Malfoy’s leg pressed the length of his, Malfoy’s arm warm against his side.

He looked back at the screen and felt himself flush in response to what he saw – two men in a tent together. Two men who wanted each other so badly it hurt, who would ruin their lives to be with each other.

Suddenly Harry wanted – needed – to know what Malfoy thought of the story. He didn’t know if he could take some cutting remark this time.

He leaned across, hearing a catch of breath as Malfoy responded to his movement.

‘Nothing to say about this one?’ he whispered, face so close to Malfoy’s ear that Malfoy would only have to move the smallest amount and Harry’s lips would be on his skin.

Malfoy shivered so slightly that Harry would have missed it if their bodies weren’t pressed together down one side.

Then Malfoy twisted, so he was half-facing Harry, and moved his head so they were cheek to cheek. Malfoy’s voice was low and raspy in his ear when he replied. ‘I have so much to say about this one,’ he said. His lips brushed Harry’s skin, so softly that he almost thought he’d imagined it. ‘If you want to hear it?’ Malfoy finished, something in his voice hesitant – vulnerable.

It was this, more than anything, that gave Harry the courage to brush his cheek then length of Malfoy’s – to reach up and cup Malfoy’s face with one hand as he brought their lips together. Malfoy’s mouth was hot and sweet and the slide of their tongues together made something burst into life in Harry’s chest. He groaned and deepened the kiss. Malfoy responded instantly, pulling him closer. Harry’s hands dropped to Malfoy’s hips and he urged him to move, groaning as Malfoy straddled him, sinking down against him.

Neither of them noticed the Muffliato that was cast over them, or the chorus of ‘Finally’ that ringed the room as they got lost in each other.


End file.
